


Against the Wind

by luna_sonoma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Siblings, Winchester Sister, the word sisfic makes me cringe into the next dimension but here we are, there’s a third winchester which means three times the nonsense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-28 03:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20419241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna_sonoma/pseuds/luna_sonoma
Summary: Before the death of their father, Dean and Caden Winchester are warned that if Sam's mysterious powers get out of hand, they will have no choice but to kill him. The two are willing to push that prospect aside, but when Caden starts sharing her brother's visions, she has to ask: is she a danger too?





	Against the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to Against the Wind. This fic has been in the works for a long, long time, and I’m beyond excited to have it out in the world for you to read.
> 
> I first started playing around with a plot for a sisfic in 2014, after reading several others and always feeling like there were things I would add or change. The story I had in my mind evolved over the years, until I had something I felt was new. Something readers wouldn’t have read before. As things unfold, I hope Against the Wind blows your mind. Repeatedly. Unrelentingly.
> 
> Before you head into this fic, there are few points I want to make you aware of:  
• Most importantly, this story starts in Season 2 Episode 2 of Supernatural. Yes, that’s the clown episode. I apologise profusely, and hope that you stick with it nonetheless. I do have my reasons: all of them are to do with conflict, and none of them are to do with clowns.  
• You were probably beckoned into this fic by a certain plot hook mentioned in the summary. I’m glad! I’m excited about the plot hook too. However, in my master plan, my grand scheme, my painstakingly detailed chapter-by-chapter several-season plot, that hook we are so excited about will not appear until Chapter 2 or 3. But, dear reader, good things come to those who wait.  
• Yes, the protagonist is a girl named Caden. Yes, that is typically a boy’s name. There is a reason for it which you shall become privy to in due time.  
• I am an advocate for believing your readers are smart cookies who can pick up your breadcrumb trail before you’ve even laid it, but I have an irrational fear that you shall read the word ‘Cade’ and assume I’ve made a typo. Dear reader, ‘Cade’ is short for ‘Caden’. The N is not missing, it is not lost, it shall be home in time for supper. Thank you for your understanding.  
• One final point. Against the Wind has an accompanying tumblr blog, where I post writing updates, secrets of the universe, and musings about the story. If you would like, please do feel free to interact with me there. The url is cadenwinchester dot tumblr dot com.
> 
> Again, this story and this plot has been with me for a long time. It is both exciting and terrifying to set it free, and so, dear reader, I hope you catch it.

The four of them had been in a car accident. Caden’s memory of it was fragmented and confused, but Sam, who’d been lucky enough to escape with only minor injuries, had filled in the gaps: after Yellow Eyes escaped back at the cabin and the reunited Winchester family were on the way to get help for a dangerously injured Dean, a demon-possessed driver smashed a truck into the Impala on Caden’s side of the car. Sam said she was out cold by the time they were airlifted to hospital, and Caden joked that she wished could’ve seen the helicopter. He didn’t find it funny.

At some point in the day following the crash, she groggily came to in a hospital bed, high out of her mind on painkillers. Sam was sitting pensively in a plastic chair beside the bed, but he rushed out before she could ask him what was going on. A moment later, he returned with a doctor in tow, who explained to her through the haze of medication that several of her ribs were broken, and that her legs needed pretty extensive surgery. The odds of walking again were not in her favor.

But even that was a light sentence in comparison to her eldest brother; Dean, already in bad shape after Yellow Eyes had nearly killed him, had the last of his strength wrestled away in the crash. The doctors didn’t sugarcoat it: he was injured seriously, and his survival wasn’t likely.

Then, in an instant, he and Caden were both healed like nothing had ever happened. It was as if some cosmic switch had been flipped. In any other case, they wouldn’t have trusted it, but after they’d been so close to losing Dean, no one was eager to call it anything other than a miracle.

Everything was fine, _great_ even, until John started acting strangely, talking to Sam like his son for once, admitting that he was sick of arguing. Caden assumed almost losing a son had knocked some sense into him, but the second John got Dean and Caden alone, he told them they needed to be prepared to kill their brother if things went south with him. Then the next thing they knew, John was dead.

It was a sequence of events she still couldn’t wrap her head around. They’d gone from the happiest family in the world to the most devasted in the blink of an eye, and even though his funeral was underway and Caden could _see_ John’s body burning right there in front of her, everything had happened so quickly that she could hardly believe he was gone.

In the end, it hadn’t been the demon that killed him, nor any monster or even the perils of hunting as a whole. He’d died of a heart attack, plain and simple.

This was the final memory any of them would have of their father. The smell of smoke, heat against their faces, their world ending against a backdrop of crackling flames.

In the quiet, Sam stirred. ‘Before he-’ he tried, his breath hitching. ‘Did he say anything to you? About anything?’

At that, Caden’s eyes prickled, threatening the onset of tears. She squeezed her eyes shut to hold them back. It wasn’t right that Sam didn’t know, but after his final conversation with John had been so forgiving, how could they have possibly broken their father’s parting words to him so soon? They would tell him in time, but tonight, the three of them had already been through enough.

So, quietly, Dean lied. ‘No,’ he answered. ‘Nothing.’

* * *

Coffee was the only thing that took her mind away from everything. Always bitter and dark and hot enough to sting, but still somehow comforting.

At Bobby’s kitchen table, Caden’s eyes were cast downwards, staring blankly into a half-empty mug. John’s journal lay open beside her; she’d read it cover-to-cover enough times in the last week that, by now, she could probably recite it from memory.

This morning’s page of choice was dated July 27th 2006, when John had reconnected with them for the last time. It was both the sole entry of 2006 and the final entry John would ever write.

_Got the news about Elkins’s death and headed over as soon as I could. The kids beat me to it; today’s the first they’ve heard of him, but they saw the same police report I did and found a phone number for D. Elkins in my journal. The rest was a simple phone book search. I followed them at a distance – can’t be too careful these days – from Elkins’s place to a post office. Dean tells me Elkins had scratched a message into his floorboards pointing them to a PO box. Inside was a letter addressed to me._

_Turns out, the son of a bitch had the Colt the whole time, or so Elkins claims in his letter. It’s the only card I’ve got against Yellow Eyes; the one thing that can finally end this for good._

_I got a chance to give Caden her birthday present once we found a motel room big enough for the four of us. As a family, we don’t do birthdays – not since Mary died – but Cade’s still upset that I missed her high school graduation, so I figured I’d make it up to her. I gave her a new watch, nothing special, but she would never take a gift if it wasn’t practical._

_Her birthday was close to 5 weeks ago now. Little Caden Jay, all grown up._

After that, John went on for several more paragraphs about Yellow Eyes and the Colt. That one account of her birthday present was perhaps the most in-depth thing he’d ever written about her. How fitting it was that when he gave her that watch – which she’d worn almost every day since – he’d neglected to put batteries in it. His kids really had always been an afterthought.

Nonetheless, seeing that nickname – a play on her first name and middle initial – in her dad’s handwriting made the pain of losing him almost unbearable. If only she could hear him call her that just one more time, it might make this easier.

A heart attack. In itself, it didn’t raise questions – plenty people of her father’s age died the same way he had – but miraculous healing always had a cost and there were only so many ways to connect the dots. Caden hadn’t asked to be healed at the price of her dad’s life, and yet it was playing on her conscience anyway. Finding the demon wouldn’t set things right, but what else could she do?

At this point, reading the journal again was just a way to pass time. Neither she nor Sam had found anything more on Yellow Eyes in the week since John had died, the Colt was still gone, and Dean was too busy obsessively repairing the Impala to care that the demon who’d almost killed him was still running wild. On top of that, he’d been avoiding Caden like the plague, clearly trying to dodge the fact they _still _hadn’t spoken about their father’s last words.

But Sam wasn’t any better; he’d gone the opposite way, entirely fixated on tracking Yellow Eyes down. He kept talking about revenge, or about doing _what Dad would’ve wanted_. He was sounding less like Sam and more like John every day, and Caden just wished he’d start acting like himself again.

Nobody had to tell her that grief was complicated and could manifest in a million ways, but no matter how she looked at things, neither of her brothers were letting themselves feel it. Not really. And yet Sam had the nerve to get on at Dean for not dealing with their father’s death.

Sam acted like he was there for her through this. Every day, he would check in with her, ask if she was all right, let her know that he was always open to talk about things, but she’d caught on pretty fast that he didn’t listen to whatever she told him. Facing his sister’s grief would mean facing that of his own, and that was something he couldn’t do.

Absentmindedly, she thumbed through the journal’s worn pages. With each entry, John’s desperation grew more intense, as if nothing else mattered to him. Just like the few sentences about her 18th birthday, there were mentions of important moments in the lives of his kids, but it always read like he’d written those in simply because he felt obligated. He’d _wanted_ to be a good father – Caden never doubted that – but a hunting obsession could never have made for a normal family; it was why he cut off contact with Sam after he left for college, and why Caden had never told him she would be following her brother to Stanford in the not-so-distant future.

The acceptance letter was still at the very bottom of her duffel bag, hidden inside the pocket of a hand-me-down hoodie where her dad could never have found it. He was the only person in her life she didn’t tell, and even though she _knew _he would have been beyond furious, there was a pang of regret in Caden’s heart – could she not have even afforded him the _chance_ to be proud of her?

But before she could pursue that thought again this week, the heavy footsteps of her brother meant she was no longer alone in Bobby’s kitchen. ‘Morning,’ Caden mumbled.

‘Hey,’ Sam greeted in return, pouring himself a cup of coffee and taking a seat across the table. His eyes were bloodshot and sunk into dark circles, like he’d woken up too early, or maybe hadn’t slept at all. ‘Do you know an Ellen?’

Caden paused, unsure. As a kid, back when she lived with Bobby for a few years, she’d been babysat by countless hunters. Bobby’s life was hectic and nonstop; he couldn’t always be there to look after her, so if her dad couldn’t stop by to pick her up, one of his or Bobby’s hunter buddies would be roped into parenting for a couple days, but of all the hunters who’d played parent, she couldn’t recall a single Ellen. ‘Doesn’t ring a bell,’ she shook her head. ‘Why?’

Sam slid a worse-for-wear cell phone across the table. ‘It’s one of Dad’s. I cracked the voicemail last night – listen.’

Puzzled, Caden took the phone and held it to her ear. An unfamiliar voice spoke a second later: a woman with a Southern accent who sounded like she was nearing the end of her rope.

_John, it’s Ellen. Again. Look, don’t be stubborn. You know I can help you. Call me._

‘First I’ve heard of her,’ Caden frowned. ‘There’s no Ellen in Dad’s journal either.’

‘There isn’t?’

She shook her head again and handed the battered phone back. ‘Run a trace on it.’

‘I did. It came from some middle-of-nowhere roadhouse in Nebraska. I think we should check it out.’

If this was a real lead, it would be the first actual news either of them had come across all week. Caden’s heart skipped a beat; this was big news, and although she lacked the fire of Sam’s newfound obsession, killing Yellow Eyes was no lower on her list of priorities. ‘Have you shown Dean?’

He looked at her like she’d just told him to jump off a bridge. ‘Are you kidding? I can’t even _look_ at him without getting my head ripped off.’

‘Well, it’s not gonna be me,’ Caden put up her hands defensively. ‘I haven’t seen him in, like, three days.’

‘He still isn’t talking to you?’

‘Nope,’ Caden shrugged like it wasn’t bothering her. She could tell by Sam’s face that he didn’t buy her nonchalance for even a second, so she didn’t leave him time to respond. ‘Let’s just go together. He might let you live if I’m there.’

* * *

It was still morning, but out in Bobby’s salvage yard, the sun was already hot. Caden had to squint her eyes against the glinting of light off old metallic cars lined up in various states of disarray. Debris was piled high everywhere you looked, coated in layers of dirt and rust, forming guides to the pathways that snaked their way through the maze that was Singer Salvage Yard. Caden had grown up here, more or less. She could walk this labyrinth in her sleep.

And in the middle of it all was the Impala, wrecked and thoroughly undriveable. The doors had been taken off, presumably too beaten up to use, and the entire hood was missing, leaving the car’s inner workings exposed. Admittedly, it was looking better than it had a week ago, but, still, it was a painful reminder of the accident and what it had cost them.

Dean was at work half-under the car. Every day, he was out here before Caden woke up and back inside after she’d gone to sleep. They hadn’t spoken since the first night at Bobby’s, after John’s funeral, but from what Sam had told her about his mood, maybe that was for the best. Dean could be pretty heartless under stress.

Sam cleared his throat a little awkwardly. ‘How’s the car coming along?’ he asked, making polite small talk. Trying not to get off on the wrong foot. Not that he really believed there was a _right _foot when it came to him and his brother at the moment.

Dean stayed under the Impala. ‘Slow.’

‘Need any help?’ Sam offered in that same polite tone.

‘What, you under a hood?’ Dean snorted. ‘I’ll pass.’

Sam shot a frustrated look in Dean’s direction and opened his mouth to go for a third attempt, but before he could say anything, Dean had wheeled himself out from under the Impala, presumably with the intention of telling Sam to leave him alone, but noticing his sister standing there too startled him, and he faltered.

‘Hey,’ Caden said flatly, arms folded across her chest.

Dean looked between the two of them in suspicion. ‘What is this?’

Sam fished the cell phone out from his pocket and handed it over. ‘It’s one of Dad’s,’ he explained. ‘I cracked the voicemail. Just listen.’

The two of them watched as Dean listened to the message, his expression darkening in puzzlement. ‘Who’s Ellen?’

‘We don’t know; Dad never mentioned her in his journal,’ answered Caden, ‘but Sam says she called from an address in Nebraska.’

To her surprise, Dean’s composure shifted entirely. A look of determination crossed his eyes, and for a moment, he looked like her brother again. He handed the phone back to Sam. ‘Ask Bobby if we can use one of his cars.’

‘On it,’ Sam nodded, visibly relieved as he turned to head back towards the house.

Caden stayed put, arms still folded. ‘I’ll catch up,’ she told Sam. He took the cue with a nod, leaving them to it.

Dean cast his eyes downwards. He could feel his sister staring him down, and he knew it was his own fault for avoiding the oncoming conversation, but still, he wished they didn’t need to talk about it. No, what he _wished_ was that John had never put this on them in the first place. But he had, and now there was nothing they could do but live with it.

Immediately, his mind snapped back to the hospital, right to the moment he’d tried so hard to leave out of his thoughts these past few days.

_John had sent Sam away to grab him a cup of coffee. It was obvious code for ‘I need to talk to your siblings alone’. Dean could guess why; he and his sister being healed as suddenly as they had wasn’t normal. Wasn’t _possible_. There had to be something supernatural at play, and knowing their father, he wouldn’t just take the miracle and go._

_Dean glanced at Caden; she might’ve been back on her feet, but her face was still bruised and the violent slash that cut across her cheekbone was only beginning to heal. They were both lucky to be alive._

_‘Dad,’ she said. ‘What’s wrong?’ It was just like her to cut to the chase. She wasn’t blunt, necessarily, just not the type to dance around things._

_John’s eyes took on a strange melancholy, something seldom seen in him. ‘You know, when you were a kid, Dean, I’d come home from a hunt and after what I’d seen, I’d be wrecked,’ he began. Dean wanted to ask what he was getting at, but something about the tone of his father’s voice didn’t let him interrupt. ‘You’d come up to me, put your hand on my shoulder, and you’d look me in the eye and say, ‘It’s okay, Dad’,’ he paused, and if Dean didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn John was threatening tears. ‘Dean, I’m sorry.’_

_Dean looked at him blankly, not understanding. ‘Why?’_

_‘Because you shouldn’t have had to say that to me; I should’ve been saying that to _you_,’ John took another moment before speaking again. ‘I put too much on your shoulders. I made you grow up too fast. You took care of Sammy, you took care of me, and then when Cade came along, I told you I’d be around more often. But I wasn’t, so you took care of her too. And you didn’t complain, not once.’ _

_His attention shifted to his daughter. ‘Caden, by the time you were old enough to understand why we had to move around so often, I thought passing you over to Uncle Bobby was the right thing to do. I should’ve known better. I’m sorry I missed out on so much.’_

_‘Dad, that was years ago. It’s okay,’ Caden’s voice was soft, worried. ‘Is this really you talking?’_

_John let himself smile at that, but the melancholic look didn’t leave his eyes. ‘Yeah, Cay, it’s really me.’ Then – and Dean could hardly believe what he was seeing – a tear rolled down his father’s face. He put a strong hand on Dean’s shoulder, a fatherly gesture so unlike his dad it made him uneasy. ‘Dean, I want you to watch out for Sam and Caden, okay?’_

_‘Yeah, Dad, you know I will,’ he replied apprehensively; no matter how near any of them had brushed with death, this was deeply unlike John Winchester. Whatever was going on, Dean didn’t like it._

_John took a breath, his expression darkening from melancholy into something almost fearful. ‘Listen, I need to tell you two something. Something important,’ his voice lowered. ‘Sammy, you know, with these visions he gets, he’s… _different. _There’s a lot we don’t know. But things could go bad, and if they do, you two have to save him. Nothing else matters. If you can’t save him, you… you need to kill him.’_

Dean willed himself to meet his sister’s eyes. It had been days since he’d last looked at her more than a glance, and he was struck by how visibly exhausted she was. ‘Have you slept?’

‘I’m fine,’ Caden snapped. ‘We can’t keep ignoring this. I don’t like it any more than you do.’

He didn’t push it, despite how clearly _not _fine his sister was, not to mention that half of her face still looked like the losing side of a boxing match. ‘I know,’ he concurred.

‘We have to tell Sam.’

_That_ caught him off guard. ‘What?’

She was still glaring at him, deadly serious. ‘You haven’t seen him. He keeps talking about following in Dad’s footsteps; he’s _idolising _the man.’

‘So, we ruin that for him?’ Dean replied. ‘I don’t want to carry this either, but if we tell Sam, all it’s gonna do is put this on _him _too. And for what? You really want to tell him that our own father thought he could be dangerous?’

‘What? No, I-’

‘Yeah, I don’t either.’

‘I’m just saying I don’t think we should keep it from him,’ Caden argued, throwing her hands up. ‘You know how we never told Dad that I got into college? I knew he’d be furious, but now that I _can’t _tell him, part of me kind of wishes I had. So, I don’t want to hide this from Sam. It isn’t right.’

Oh. Dean allowed his to expression soften at that. Sometimes, it was easy to forget how young Caden was – maturity was something most kids brought up in hunting earned at the price of their childhood, he and Sam included – but once in a while, she’d say something like that, something that reminded you she was still a teenager.

The three of them, plus Bobby, had kept John in the dark about Caden’s college plans for months; their father had never even known she applied. Dean had his own thoughts about the whole situation, but ultimately, he was on his sister’s side. Caden leaving for Stanford didn’t come with the same circumstances as Sam leaving had. Even now, after Sam had been back for almost a year, Dean had no doubt he could leave again at the drop of a hat, without saying a word for months, but Caden wasn’t like that. She would never willingly break apart from her family. For all their similarities, Sam and Caden differed painfully on that.

But John would never have seen it that way.

‘Cade, he would’ve kicked you out,’ he told her. Looking back, the argument preceding Sam’s escape to Stanford was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. ‘Not telling Dad you got into college was about protecting you; not telling Sam what happened at the hospital is about protecting _him. _Is that not the right thing to do?’

Caden’s gaze shifted away, but he could tell he’d gotten through to her. Eventually, she conceded. ‘Yeah. It is.’

‘All right,’ said Dean. He put a hand on his sister’s shoulder, meeting her eyes with brotherly concern. ‘But, for real, are you okay? Because you look like you got hit by a truck.’

She rolled her eyes at the pun and shoved his hand off, but there was a smirk she didn’t try to stifle. ‘Shut up,’ she said, but it was affectionately tinged. ‘You’re just jealous that this black eye makes me look tougher than you.’

* * *

Ellen had called from five hours away in the middle of nowhere, but Caden didn’t mind the long journey; she was just grateful for a change of scenery. Getting back on the road was a breath of fresh air, and with this new lead, the stagnation was finally melting away. Bobby hadn’t had anything more respectable for them to drive than a minivan, which really wasn’t that big a deal, but leaving behind the Impala did have her feeling homesick, if one could feel that way for a car.

Up ahead, what could best be described as an oversized shack came into view, unlit neon signage letting them know they were looking at _Harvelle’s Roadhouse_. The dusty building was dull and unkempt, as if it hadn’t seen a soul in years.

Caden craned her neck from the backseat to get a better look. ‘You sure this is the place?’

‘Yeah,’ Sam frowned. ‘This is the address.’

‘Well, we’re checking it out whether it’s the right place or not,’ said Dean, pulling into the deserted parking lot. ‘I didn’t drive 300 friggin’ miles in a minivan for nothing.’ He climbed out, slamming the door behind him in disgust. ‘It’s humiliating! I feel like a soccer mom.’

Upon closer inspection, the Roadhouse was eerily quiet, not a sign of life to be found. Caden peered in through a window, but all she could glimpse through the drawn blinds was a dimly lit, run-down bar much like any other. She knocked on the glass, disturbing layers of dust and dirt. ‘Anybody here?’

No response.

A drawn-out _creak _caught her attention, pulling her away from the window; beside her, Dean had pushed the front door open. Cautiously, he stepped inside, motioning for Sam and Caden to follow.

Honestly, Caden had expected more of the same: dust, dirt, and an air of abandonment, but inside, she was hit with the overpowering smell of whiskey and cigarette smoke. Rows of bottles lined the bar, and there were enough chairs and tables to house more than just a handful of customers.

But perhaps the most compelling argument for the Roadhouse’s liveliness was the man sprawled across the pool table at the far end of the building, undoubtedly unconscious. Harvelle’s Roadhouse was in business after all, complete with a resident drunk.

‘I’m guessing that isn’t Ellen,’ Sam commented, keeping his voice down. A moment later, he broke off, disappearing through a door to their right.

Caden watched him head into the next room, debating whether to follow, when the slightest sound of a careful footstep caught her attention. Sensing the energy in the room shift, she pulled her gun from her waistband and whipped round in one swift motion, aiming it, safety off, at the source of the sound: a blond-haired girl, no more than a couple years older than Caden, holding a rifle against Dean’s back.

Caden glared at the stranger. The girl didn’t look like _much _of a threat, but frightened people with guns were a recipe for disaster and Caden wasn’t eager to pull a bullet out of her brother today. ‘Put it down,’ she commanded, tone even but uncompromising.

The girl met her eyes with a challenging glint, allowing her focus to falter just long enough for Dean to turn and grab the rifle from her hands. With a cocky grin, he told her, ‘And _that’s_ why you don’t put it right against someone’s back.’

Her eyes widened in panic, a deer caught in headlights, but only for a brief moment before she shot out a fist and punched Dean _hard _on the nose. Instinctively, he recoiled, and the girl snatched the rifle back. Without wasting another beat, she trained it on Caden.

‘Sam!’ Dean yelled, holding a hand to his bleeding nose. ‘A little help in here!’

‘Sorry, Dean,’ Sam replied tersely as the door swung open and he was led out at gunpoint by a middle-aged woman whose face was so severe Caden worried they were in legitimate danger now.

But then, ‘Wait…’ the woman trailed off, looking between them curiously. ‘Sam? Dean? …_Winchester?’_

‘Yeah?’ they confirmed in unison, suspicious.

The girl with the rifle stayed locked on Caden but looked just as dumbfounded. ‘Mom, you _know _these people?’

‘Yeah, I think these two are John Winchester’s boys,’ the woman replied, then, to Caden, ‘but John never mentioned a girl.’

If there wasn’t a gun aimed at her brother’s head, she might’ve thought to be offended. ‘I’m his daughter. Caden.’

The woman paused, eyes narrowed as she thought this over. She frowned and asked, ‘Ain’t Caden a boy’s name?’ There was a beat of tense silence as Caden figured out how on Earth to reply to that without getting shot, but all of a sudden, the woman laughed and dropped the firearm. ‘Hey, I’m kidding. I’m Ellen, and that’s my daughter, Jo.’

‘Hey,’ Jo added, lowering the rifle. Albeit cautiously, Caden followed suit.

* * *

As it turned out, Ellen and John had been close friends some time ago. She knew all about the demon and for years had been offering help in tracking it down to no avail. Had John accepted her help, Caden wondered how differently things might’ve gone. Maybe Yellow Eyes would be dead by now, killed by a bullet from the Colt, or at the very least, exorcised to the deepest depths of whatever hell it came from. Ending Yellow Eyes had been her dad’s number one priority since the moment he began hunting, and yet even when it came to something of such importance to him, he still allowed his stubbornness to get in the way.

Trusting Ellen so quickly was naïve, but whether because they needed a win or just someone parental, trust her they did.

She introduced them to the drunk passed out on the pool table, promising he was a demon-tracking genius. His name was Ash, and he had proudly carried a mullet all the way into 2006. Once they’d handed over a year’s worth of John’s research on Yellow Eyes, Ash claimed he’d need exactly 51 hours to figure it out. Caden was sceptical, but they were out of options. Anything was worth a shot.

Although the Roadhouse was closed today, Ellen was kind enough to invite them to stay as long as they liked. Dean was making the most of it, already hitting on Jo; she was pretty, Caden mused, and smart enough not to fall for whatever Dean was trying. Her hair, about as light as blonde could be, fell over her shoulders in soft curls, as opposed to Caden’s disorderly mousy brown waves. It wasn’t that Caden didn’t care about her hair – she’d even spent hours styling it for her graduation ceremony, and would’ve done the same for prom, if only she’d attended – it was just that, especially nowadays, things like that never made her list of priorities.

Jo had grown up around hunting, but she seemed so much happier than Caden ever had. Her smiles were frequent and genuine, and she had a mom who acted like a parent.

Caden spared herself from letting that thought spiral into her own childhood. They’d tried to make the best of things, she and her brothers, in whatever ways they could, and even though it wasn’t like John had _never _been around, her mind was always stuck on the moments he’d missed.

His journal lay open on the bar between her and Sam as they both pretended to read like they hadn’t memorized every damn thing their dad had ever written about demons. Caden felt like she was hitting her head against the same wall over and over again expecting different results. The reality was that until Ash did his thing – whatever his thing was – they were stuck.

‘We should find a case,’ Caden suggested quietly.

She felt Sam’s eyes shift to look at her. ‘Since when did you want to work a case?’

‘Since we can’t do anything else.’

‘So-_rry_.’ He went back to staring at the journal, but a second later, sighed and admitted, ‘Actually, I was thinking the same thing. Dad would want us to hunt right now.’

There he went again with _what Dad would have wanted. _Caden couldn’t find it in her to respond.

Cleaning glasses on the other side of the bar, Ellen chimed in, ‘Listen, I don’t mean to intrude, but if you kids are looking for a case, I got one that might keep you busy for a couple days.’

Caden looked up from the journal just as Sam nodded and said, ‘That’d be great. Thank you.’

‘Not a problem,’ Ellen smiled warmly, picking a file from behind the cash register and setting it down on the bar in front of them. ‘It’s a weird one: killer clowns.’

The look of horror on Sam’s face was instant, intense, and completely hilarious. Caden had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing as Ellen looked between the two of them questioningly. ‘Everything all right?’

‘Oh, Sammy’s not a fan of clowns,’ Caden explained, making no effort to keep the grin off her face.

Sam shot her a warning look. ‘Very _funny_, Caden.’

Ellen didn’t ask. ‘The case is yours if you want it,’ she offered again.

‘We’ll take it,’ Sam gave a terse smile. ‘Thanks, Ellen.’

* * *

Once Dean had made his peace with getting back into the soccer-mom minivan, the Winchesters set off towards Wisconsin. The sun set as they drove, an old cassette playing too loudly as the stars began to appear. Caden leaned against the front seat, reading the file Ellen had given them over Sam’s shoulder while the two of them quietly exchanged theories and remarks until sometime around 2AM, when Dean announced that he needed a break and pulled into an empty rest stop.

‘So, killer clowns, huh?’ he said, turning down the music. ‘That’s a first.’

‘Yeah, apparently it broke into some family’s house and killed the parents. Like, _ripped-them-apart _killed,’ Caden recapped from the file, ‘but then left the kid totally unharmed.’ It was grim, and definitely not something appropriate to feel excited about, but talking about the case had things tipping in the direction of normal again, and so Caden couldn’t help but welcome it.

‘How do you know we’re not dealing with some psycho in a clown suit?’

‘The cops have no viable leads, and the family were at a carnival earlier that night. Kind of a weird coincidence.’

‘The Cooper Carnival,’ added Sam. ‘Says here that the employees were tearing down shop – alibies all around. Plus, the kid said she saw a clown vanish into thin air. Cops are saying trauma-’

‘I know what you’re thinking Sam,’ Dean interrupted. ‘Why did it have to be clowns?’

There was nothing Caden could do to stop herself dissolving into laughter – the first time she’d genuinely laughed in days – as Sam rolled his eyes and said, ‘Oh, give me a break.’

But Dean pushed on, encouraged by Caden’s reaction. ‘You didn’t think I remembered, did you?’ he grinned. ‘You still bust out crying whenever you see Ronald McDonald on the television.’

‘Yeah? Well, at least I’m not afraid of flying!’

‘Planes crash!’

‘And apparently clowns kill!’ Sam shot back defensively.

With that, Caden bit the inside of her cheek in an effort to wipe the amusement from her face; clearly Sam was not finding this nearly as fun as his siblings. In all honesty, Caden _did_ get the clown phobia, and she was lucky she’d never picked it up herself. As kids, a teenage Dean would often drop the two of them off at some children’s play area, often clown-themed, leaving them to wait hours and hours for his return, never really knowing where he was or if he was safe. Caden remembered the nerve-wracking days well, but with Sam there to look out for her, it had never affected her the way it had affected him.

But regardless, she’d be an idiot to pass up an opportunity to tease her brother.

Dean cleared his throat. ‘So, uh, these types of murder, they ever happened before?’

‘1981,’ Sam nodded. ‘The Bunker Brothers Circus. Same thing. It happened three different times, three different locales.’

‘Maybe there’s a spirit attached to something the carnival carries around with them? Which could be anything,’ Caden guessed.

‘Great,’ Sam sighed. ‘Paranormal scavenger hunt.’

‘Well, you _did _pick this case,’ said Dean, tone bordering on accusatory. ‘By the way, why is that? You were awfully quick to jump on this job.’

‘So?’ Sam shrugged. ‘It was Caden’s idea first.’

‘Yeah, and you agreed with me,’ Caden replied. ‘I just figured we might as well do something while Ash is tracking.’

‘Right, and-’ Sam paused, like he wasn’t sure whether to continue his sentence. It didn’t matter; Caden knew where he was going with it. Eventually, he elected to continue anyway: ‘I guess taking this job is what Dad would’ve wanted us to do.’

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What _Dad _would’ve wanted?’ Caden might’ve been hearing about _what Dad would’ve wanted _all week, but other than what she’d let him know back in Bobby’s salvage yard, this was news to Dean, and judging by the look on his face, he wasn’t taking kindly to it.

‘Yeah,’ Sam stated. ‘So?’

Her brothers stared each other down for a moment, Dean shocked and Sam daring him to react. Caden looked at Dean with an expression reading _‘See what I mean?’_. He seemed to catch her meaning, and to her relief, didn’t push the oncoming argument any further. If the three of them could just stay away from the topic of John for the next couple days, they’d get through this unscathed.

* * *

It was mid-morning by the time they’d had a few hours of sleep and finished the journey to Wisconsin. Cooper Carnival looked fairly typical based on Caden’s limited experience. A population of tired employees milled around the tents and rickety attractions, readying the site for the day ahead. Out in the parking lot, two clowns stood sombrely as they spoke with a well-dressed inspector – a scene that would’ve been comical given any other context.

Sam declined the opportunity to speak with the inspector, leaving Dean and Caden to go play FBI. He stayed by the minivan, a safe distance from the clowns, and pretended to read a message on his phone as the two of them wandered over.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ Dean said in his best professional voice. ‘I’m Agent Cook, this is Agent Clifford,’ the two of them flashed their fake badges in rehearsed unison. ‘Mind if we ask a couple questions about the recent murders?’

The inspector eyed them suspiciously, his gaze eventually settling on Caden. ‘Aren’t you a little young to be FBI?’

‘I’m training,’ she covered, the usual excuse. ‘The Feds wouldn’t usually take a case like this, but I need the experience. Gotta start somewhere, Inspector.’

‘Of course. I assume you’re here about what happened last night?’

Dean nodded without missing a beat, masking the fact that neither he nor his sister had heard anything about last night. ‘That’s right,’ he lied. ‘Any leads?’

‘No, nothing. Poor boy’s shaken up, keeps saying that he saw a clown vanish into thin air,’ the inspector frowned sympathetically. ‘Losing his parents like that, it’s a lot for a kid to deal with.’

‘And this matched the last two murders?’ Caden queried.

‘Yes, exactly. Right down to the clown sighting.’ _Weird. _Without a doubt, whatever this clown was, it was their kind of job.

With some parting pleasantries and a polite nod, the two of them headed back over to Sam, who’d put away his phone and was now fidgeting nervously with his hands. He shoved them into his pockets when he spotted them approaching, trying to cling onto some degree of composure. They filled him in on the news, watching his unsettled expression steadily worsen.

‘Definitely thinking cursed object,’ Dean theorized. ‘Did you bring your EMF meters?’

Caden nodded and pulled the device out of her pocket. A clever little analogue thing designed to pick up on frequencies left behind by supernatural presences. Hers and Dean’s were both made from retired Walkmans – a summer DIY project they’d worked on together while Sam was still at college. Caden, no older than 15 at the time, had thought it would be a great idea to cover the back of hers with a patchwork of animal-shaped stickers which had remained stuck fast to this day, try as she might to remove them.

‘Guys, looking for a cursed object is like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles. It could be anything,’ Sam pointed out.

Dean shrugged. ‘So, we’ll scan everything.’

‘Oh, good!’ retorted Sam sarcastically. ‘That’s nice and inconspicuous.’

‘Then we’ll just have to blend in,’ Dean answered, his gaze shifting to something over Sam’s shoulder.

Caden had to stand on her toes to see past her brother as he turned to look at whatever Dean was talking about. Posted in front of a circus tent was a sign sporting bold block letters. Her stomach dropped when she processed what it said.

_HELP WANTED! Interviewing with Mr Cooper NOW! Inquire within._

She blinked at her eldest brother incredulously. ‘No,’ she said in horror. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘Not at all.’

* * *

Carnival memorabilia took up every available space inside Cooper’s office, like a circus-themed antique shop pulled straight from Sam’s worst nightmares. Caden couldn’t be sure if she was more horrified or amazed by the sheer scale of the collection; looking for a cursed object would take days in this room alone, never mind the whole park.

Behind the desk, Cooper himself sat comfortably, seemingly unphased by his chaotic workspace. ‘You kids picked a hell of a time to join up,’ he told them, motioning for them to take a seat. ‘We got all kinds of local trouble.’

Of the three seats in front of Cooper’s desk, how delightfully convenient it was that only two of them were ordinary wooden chairs, while the third was a masterfully crafted chair in the likeness of a friendly clown. Dean, clearly having the same thought as his sister, opted for a non-clown chair alongside Caden, leaving Sam with only one option.

‘Local trouble?’ Dean echoed in feigned surprise as Sam reluctantly placed himself onto the clown chair, shooting a split-second glower in his siblings’ direction.

‘I’m afraid so. A couple folks got murdered, and the cops always seem to start here first. Anyway,’ Cooper leaned forward, ‘no use in dwelling on that now. You three ever worked the circuit before?’

Caden nodded a little too enthusiastically; her approach with these things tended to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed youth. ‘Absolutely. Last year through Texas and Arkansas.’

‘Doing what? Ride jockeys?’

‘Yeah, little bit of everything. Whatever needed doing.’

Cooper sat back, eyeing them suspiciously. ‘You kids have never worked a show in your lives before, have you?’

‘Nope,’ admitted Dean, ‘but we really need the work, and Sam here has a thing for the bearded lady.’

Sam scowled at him from the clown chair, meanwhile Caden had to bite her cheeks and look away to keep from sniggering.

Cooper’s expression was disapproving, and he pointed to a picture by his desk. It was an old black and white photograph of a man about Cooper’s age standing proudly before a Ferris wheel. ‘You see him? That’s my daddy.’

Sam, having regained his composure, commented, ‘You look just like him.’

‘He was in the business. Ran a freak show till they outlawed them most places. Apparently, displaying the deformed isn’t dignified,’ Cooper shook his head sadly. ‘So, most of the performers went from honest work to rotting in hospitals and asylums. That’s progress, I guess.

‘You see, this place is a refuge for outcasts. Always has been. For folks that don’t fit in nowhere else. But you three?’ he paused, looking them over. ‘You should go to school. Hell. You, young lady, barely look a day over 18! What happened to senior year? You kids should be living regular.’

Caden opened her mouth to inform him that she had finished senior year, thank you very much, but before she could correct him, Sam was leaning forward onto the desk, meeting Cooper dead in the eye. It caught her off guard; this was the same Sam who’d been too freaked out to even approach the inspector in the parking lot.

‘Sir? We don’t wanna go to school. And we don’t want regular,’ he said, tone so serious Caden questioned if he was really playing a character anymore. ‘We want _this._’

There was a moment of heavy silence as all parties took in Sam’s words. Caden, like her brothers, was a master of masking surprise in situations like this, but even her feigned agreement was threatening to waver in the face of what her brother had just said. Rationality told her he was only saying what was needed to get them in, but she knew Sam better than anyone, and that tone was genuine.

Eventually, Cooper sighed in resignation. ‘Well, hell. Welcome to the team.’

* * *

Caden slipped on the red Cooper Carnival jacket. Despite Sam’s whole _we don’t want normal_ spiel, wearing the uniform felt jarringly ordinary. Minimum wage summer jobs were a rite of passage for most teenagers; the only job Caden ever had was hunting. Even as a kid, it had surrounded her. Sam had been kept in the dark about the supernatural until he was 8 – Caden just barely remembered the day he found out – but the way things worked out, growing up unaware like that had never been an option for her. Moving out, going to college… _that_ would be her first chance at ‘normal’.

Sam spoke so fondly of his life at Stanford. He couldn’t wait to bring her into that world where the biggest things she’d have to worry about were essays, homework, and being late for class. Normality, _safety_, it was everything she knew he wanted for his family, and yet – unless Sam really had been acting – Caden had to wonder if he was second-guessing those plans.

She wouldn’t have brought it up for fear she was making a big deal out of nothing, but Dean was clearly up for another round of confrontation, because the next words out of his mouth were, ‘So, Sam, that whole ‘I don’t wanna go to school’ thing… Were you just saying that to Cooper, or were you, you know… _saying _it?’

Sam sighed, shrugging a little. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’ Dean was taken aback. ‘I thought that once the demon was dead and the fat lady sings, you and Cade were gonna take off to Stanford.’

‘I’m having second thoughts.’

It didn’t matter that Caden had seen those second thoughts coming. Hearing him confirm it was a punch in the gut. She looked at her brother, more shocked than hurt. ‘What? What about our plans?’

‘It’s not that I don’t want _that_, it’s just… I dunno, Dad always wanted me to stick with the job.’

Dean’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘Since when did you give a damn about what Dad wanted? You spent half your life doing exactly what he _didn’t _want, Sam.’'

‘Since he died, okay? You have a problem with that?’

Dean expression grew cold and, stone-faced, he shook his head. ‘No, I don’t have a problem with that at all,’ he replied flatly, walking off without another word.

There was anger burning in her chest now, but Caden forced it down; as much as she might have wanted to, it wasn’t like her to blow up at someone. ‘You’re going to turn your back on this to please Dad?’ she said quietly, meeting Sam’s eyes. ‘He doesn’t care, Sam. He’s dead.’

She didn’t hang around to hear his answer to that; whatever justification Sam could come up with would only make things feel worse.

* * *

Litter picking was at the top of their to-do list. Crappy job, but they’d lucked out on being assigned a task that just so happened to involve wandering the entire carnival. With her EMF reader tucked into a pocket, Caden tried to blend in alongside Dean as a regular employee. To no one’s surprise, Sam had stalked off to search the opposite side of the park.

Going to college together had been her and Sam’s plan for years. John had it drilled into Caden that college wasn’t an option, and so even as kids, Sam took on the job of encouraging her academically, whether it was teaching her how to do math or helping her study for the SAT. Even while at Stanford, making a point of ignoring his family, not once had Sam stopped contacting her in secret.

That’s why this sudden change of heart felt like such a slap in the face.

Caden shoved a crushed can into her trash bag with enough force to tear a hole in the black material. Trash tumbled out, spilling across the floor. She dropped the bag in resignation, letting out a frustrated puff of air through her nose.

Dean looked over, eyebrows raised. ‘Everything okay over there?’

‘Yeah,’ she said, yanking a new trash bag out of her jacket pocket. ‘Everything’s _great_.’

‘You can go without him, you know,’ he pointed out. ‘Plenty kids go to college by themselves.’

‘I don’t want to go all the way to California by myself,’ she replied, filling the new bag with the mess that had spilled out of the previous one. ‘If I’m going alone, I want to at least be close to Bobby.’

Caden wasn’t naïve; she knew that going to college wasn’t a get out of jail free card. Hunting would find her, just like it had found Sam, and the last thing she wanted was to get caught up in something supernatural, with Bobby hundreds of miles away and her brothers on the other side of the country. Renouncing hunting wasn’t her intention, and it wasn’t as if she couldn’t handle a ghost or a couple rogue werewolves by herself, but if Yellow Eyes decided to make a surprise appearance in her dorm room, it might be a different story.

Dean’s expression clouded over, like that thought hadn’t occurred to him yet. ‘You deferred your entry to next year, right?’

‘Yeah,’ Caden confirmed. ‘I called the admissions office when we left the hospital.’

‘Then we’ve got all year to figure it out,’ he said. ‘So, let’s kill this clown and worry about college later.’

Postponing her worries seemed awfully similar to ignoring them, but Dean was right, and there were too many issues on her mind to sensibly add another. But her thoughts stuck around, as she got back to picking up trash, listening absentmindedly to the electronic hum of her EMF reader. She didn’t need this. Not now.

At some point, Dean’s phone went off – Sam checking in – and Caden rolled her eyes at the fact Sam was calling the sibling who’d done nothing but argue with him for a week and a half instead of calling her. _Whatever. _

‘Found something?’ Dean answered the phone. ‘What’s the matter? You sound like you just saw a clown,’ he smirked a little at that, coaxing a grin out of his sister too. ‘… A _skeleton_? What, like a real human skeleton? … Did the bones give off EMF? … Alright, we’ll head to you.’

Caden looked at her brother expectantly. ‘Skeleton?’

‘In the funhouse. A fake one, he says,’ clarified Dean, ‘but he sounded so spooked I wasn’t sure.’

That earned another grin, and Caden might have quipped back if a pair of hands hadn’t shot seemingly out of nowhere and grabbed both her and Dean by the arm. Automatic reaction had the two of them ready to reach for their weapons before they could even register what was happening – it was the blind man – Papazian, or something – who Dean had accidentally insulted shortly before their job interview with Cooper. He might have been elderly, but nothing about the man’s grip on her arm suggested he was frail. Still though, Caden decided that shooting him in the middle of a family carnival possibly wasn’t the best way to deescalate the situation.

‘What are you kids _doing _here?’ he demanded, glaring daggers at them – if a pair of dark glasses could glare.

‘Uh,’ Dean glanced at Caden, who was hurrying past confusion, one move away from wrestling the blind man off them. ‘We’re… cleaning?’

‘Bull!’ Papazian spat. ‘What were you talking about? Skeletons? What’s EMF?’

‘Your blind-man hearing is out of control!’ remarked Dean incredulously.

‘Yeah, well, we’re a tight-knit group; we don’t like outsiders. We take care of our own problems.’

Caden tried to shake him off, but his hand stayed put. ‘_Is_ there a problem?’ she questioned, making no attempt to conceal her growing displeasure.

‘Well, you tell me! You’re the ones talking about human bones!’

_Great_, the one time they didn’t have a cover story ready to go just _had _to be now. Dean shot a panicked look at his sister. ‘Uh…’ he stalled, then in complete seriousness, ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’

Caden’s mouth dropped open. What the hell kind of cover up was _that!? _This weird old man with an unbelievably strong grip was going to figure out they were up to something, tell Cooper, get them fired from their fake job, call the police, who were then going to find the arsenal in their soccer-mom minivan, and then they’d get arrested and that would be that. Great. Cool. Awesome. They were screwed.

‘Me and my siblings – this is my sister, and that was my brother on the phone – we’re writing a book about ghosts. Get this: killer phantom clowns, like the urban legend from around here. Scary, right? We think it’s gonna be a hit,’ he continued pursuing the single dumbest cover up story Caden had ever heard her idiot brother come up with. ‘There’s a ton of real-life horror story stuff about this thing, all the way back to the Bunker Brothers Circus in 1981.’

But, by some miracle, Papazian bought it and let them go. ‘Oh,’ he stood down, clearly disappointed. But before he left them alone, he leaned in to hiss one more warning: ‘Just watch what you say before you start scaring folks. There’s enough trouble here already. Cooper worked for the Bunker Brothers once upon a time, and the last thing that man needs is more people spreading horror stories.’

And with that, he left, stalking off in silence.

* * *

Exploring the carnival funhouse with his EMF meter had Sam more on edge than he’d be comfortable admitting. Cheap jumpscares and spooky circus music should’ve been lost on a hunter, but this whole damn case was creeping him out. The next time they heard about a killer clown, some other hunter could deal with it; he’d hunt a thousand vampires if it meant never seeing a clown again.

And to make matters worse, not one part of the funhouse had registered as more than a quiet hum of EMF. He’d endured all that awful circus music for _nothing_.

Maybe Dean and Caden had had more luck. They were on their way to meet him now, which, in all honesty, Sam was kind of dreading. Dean was still arguing with him almost nonstop, and now Caden was mad at him too over the college thing. They would put it aside for the sake of the case, but that couldn’t stop Sam from thinking about it.

Sam had studied law so he could have some kind of a normal life, away from the supernatural. He’d sacrificed so much to pursue that. So much that it took his own father’s death to knock some sense into him.

There was a sense of duty now. Not just in killing yellow eyes, but in hunting as a whole. It was the one way he had left to connect with John Winchester after spending years of his life rejecting him and everything he stood for. Making up for lost time wasn’t possible, but this was closest he’d get. He was doing the right thing, there was no doubt in Sam’s mind about that.

It was different for Caden. She didn’t want a ticket out of hunting. If on the day of her college graduation, hunting called her back, she wouldn’t say no. College was just another new experience for her; the possibility of a different life with none of the commitment Sam had gone into it with.

That’s why she could go, and he couldn’t.

Over the phone, during secret late-night conversations while he was still in Palo Alto, he would always tell her how great Stanford was. How different his life was. How much better things would be when she finished high school and joined him. Caden was smart, and he knew she’d get in, but if it had been up to their dad, she’d have been shut down the second she even _thought _about college.

Growing up, Sam’s only academic support came from himself; it _sucked _not having someone who cared about that stuff in the same way you did, so he could never have let his sister go through the same thing.

That’s why she was upset. He understood that, but he really wasn’t turning his back on her. She could go to college and call him for essay advice, just like she had in high school, and he’d still be happy to help. He just couldn’t go with her, and he wasn’t in the wrong about that.

Yellow Eyes was still out there, and for once in his life, Sam planned to follow in his father’s footsteps. It wasn’t his problem if his siblings took issue with that.

Speaking of siblings, the two of them finally caught up to him outside the funhouse. ‘What took so long?’

Dean shook his head, disgruntled. ‘Long story,’ he muttered.

‘We ran into the blind dude,’ Caden clarified. ‘Or, I guess he ran into us.’

Sam wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but he didn’t have to, as from a few feet away, a kid excitedly exclaimed, ‘Look at the clown!’

_Great_. Sam steeled himself and turned around to look at the child, who was pointing eagerly to some spot in the distance.

A woman standing by the kid, presumably her mother, frowned in puzzlement. ‘Sweetie, what clown?’

Reluctantly, Sam looked out to where the kid was pointing; both to his relief and unease, sure enough, there was not a clown in sight. The mother pulled her daughter away, back into the throng of the carnival. How wonderful that now both the presence and absence of a clown had become cause for concern.

‘Follow that family,’ Dean said, and they took off in pursuit as inconspicuously as possible.

* * *

‘Dean, I cannot _believe_ you told Papazian about the homicidal phantom clown,’ Sam said, as they watched the house of the mysterious clown family. They’d spent well over an hour following the kid and her parents around the carnival, trying to go unnoticed – luckily their employee uniforms made them pretty much invisible to the carnival guests – until they finally left and drove home, outside which the Winchesters now waited. Their first ever clown-related stake-out.

‘He told him an urban legend about a homicidal phantom clown,’ Caden corrected. ‘He never said it was _real_.’

‘Exactly, and get this,’ Dean added, ‘when I mentioned the Bunker Brothers in ’81 and their evil clown apocalypse, he said Cooper used to work for them.’

‘So, you think whatever the spirit attaches to, Cooper brought it with him?’ guessed Sam.

Caden nodded in confirmation as Dean said, ‘Something like that. I can’t believe we keep talking about clowns.’

‘Me neither,’ Sam muttered.

The evening passed with mostly awkward silence. Any conversation that wasn’t to do with the case was bound to head into an argument, and none of them had the energy for that again today. Stake-outs were never fun, but this one _really_ sucked.

As the sun went down and evening became night, they switched to lookout shifts so each of them could get some rest. Sam was up first, followed by Caden, then finally Dean. For the first time in days, Caden was out like a light. Sleep hadn’t come easy since John died, but the last few days had exhausted her. The minivan’s silver lining was its multiple backseats, giving Caden the chance to lie down; as the smallest Winchester, she was never allowed the luxury of sleeping sprawled across the backseat of the Impala. That was always reserved for her dad, or one of her freakishly tall brothers.

It felt like she’d barely fallen asleep before a gentle hand on her shoulder was shaking her awake. ‘Cay.’

Groggily, she opened her eyes. ‘Already?’

‘Yep,’ Sam confirmed, already moving to lie down across the front seats – Dean had taken the very back – as Caden wiped the sleep from her eyes and took over lookout. The night was still, the house in darkness.

All was quiet for a moment before Sam stirred. ‘Actually, can we talk?’

Caden blinked at him as he sat up again. ‘What?’

‘Keep your voice down,’ he chided, glancing over at Dean’s end of the minivan. ‘About college.’

‘What?’ Caden said again, quieter this time. _‘Now?’ _

‘Yeah, now. I don’t think you shouldn’t go to Stanford.’

‘All right,’ she nodded once, and went back to staring at the house. ‘Good talk.’ Maybe it wasn’t fair to be so short with him, but this conversation didn’t need to happen right now. Taking this case was supposed to be a break, a couple days just to distance the three of them from the crap they were going though, but it was falling into disarray and the last thing she wanted was to face it.

‘Caden.’

‘What? Sam, I don’t need you to greenlight my college plans.’

‘I know, I just don’t want you to think that I’m not on your side anymore,’ he said.

She looked at him again and could tell he was being earnest. It did mean a lot to hear him say that, but she was _so fucking tired_, and the situation remained unchanged. Of the three of them, Caden was almost always the one to address things when they were avoiding a conversation, but it had been a _long _ten days since John died, and as much as she knew ignoring things could only make her feel worse, no part of her wanted to talk about this. Not tonight.

When a light switched on in the house’s living room, Caden was almost thankful for the interruption. If only it didn’t involve a literal murder clown. The little girl from the carnival appeared in the living room window, seemingly alone. Reaching over the back of her seat, Caden unceremoniously shook Dean awake, Sam already leaving the minivan.

It took all of two minutes from waking up her brother to breaking into the house. The three of them hid in adjoining rooms to the hallway, hoping to catch a clown if it appeared, and stay out of sight if it didn’t.

‘Wanna see Mommy and Daddy? They’re upstairs,’ the kid’s voice drifted from the living room, innocent and trusting.

Caden could hear two pairs of feet shuffling into the hallway before Sam quickly intervened, grabbing the child and pulling her to safety. At opposite ends of the hallway, Caden and Dean stepped out of their hiding places, finally giving her a chance to see the infamous clown – it was creepy as all hell, the very definition of a horror movie monster. No wonder these things got Sam nervous.

Without allowing one more second to go to waste, both she and Dean fired salt rounds into the clown’s chest, sending it crashing to the ground in a heap. But it didn’t vanish like a spirit should.

Caden looked at her brother in alarm. ‘What the hell?’

In horror, the two of them watched as the clown collected itself and got back on its feet like nothing had happened. The little girl screamed in Sam’s arms as Caden readied her weapon to fire again – not that that strategy had proved effective, but it was all they had. With a wailing cry, the clown seemed to have second thoughts, as it turned tail and hurtled past Dean, smashing through the glass of a window and disappearing into thin air.

The little girl screamed again, understandably terrified, so Sam let her go and the Winchesters bolted away before someone called the police.

* * *

Dean shoved the soccer-mom minivan’s license plate into his duffel bag as Caden and Sam removed the last of their belongings from the inside. They’d managed to hide it on the edge of the woods, several miles away from the house and the carnival. The last thing they needed was the police on their trail.

‘You really think they saw our plates?’ Sam doubted.

‘I don’t wanna take the chance. Besides, I hate this freaking van,’ Dean grumbled as they abandoned the vehicle, getting back onto the road by foot. ‘Well, one thing’s for sure: it ain’t a spirit we’re dealing with. That rock salt hit something solid.’

‘And the way it smashed the glass when it escaped? A spirit wouldn’t need to do that,’ added Caden.

‘So, a person? Or maybe a creature that can make itself invisible?’ Sam guessed.

‘Yeah, and dresses up a like a clown for kicks?’ Dean furrowed his brow. ‘Cade, did you find anything in Dad’s journal?’

Caden shook her head. On the getaway drive from the house, she’d speed-read through John’s journal _again, _but for clowns this time instead of yellow-eyed demons. ‘Nope. There is not a single mention of clowns in that thing.’

Sam pulled out his cell phone. ‘Maybe Ellen or that guy, Ash, will know something,’ he wondered, dialling. ‘Hey, uh, you think Dad and Ellen ever had a thing?’

‘No way,’ Dean and Caden said in unison.

‘Then why didn’t he tell us about her?’

‘I don’t know, maybe they had some sort falling out,’ Dean shrugged.

‘Yeah.’ Sam held the phone up to his ear. ‘You ever notice Dad had a falling out with just about everybody?’

Dean looked away and didn’t respond. Neither did Caden. How was she supposed to answer that without opening the door to _another_ fight?

‘Well don’t get all maudlin on the man,’ Sam said flatly, hanging up his phone.

Her oldest brother took the bait. ‘What do you mean?’ Dean’s tone was accusing enough that Caden felt it. There was only one way this conversation could go now. Intervening wouldn’t stop it. All she could do was wait it out, hoping she didn’t get caught in the crossfire.

Sam threw his hands up exasperatedly. ‘I mean this strong, silent thing of yours. It’s crap. I’m over it.’

‘Guys, come on,’ Caden appealed, knowing full well it would be to no avail. She was sick of this.

‘This isn’t just anyone. This is Dad,’ Sam went on, ignoring her. ‘I know how you felt about the man.’

Dean was glaring at him furiously. ‘Back off, all right? Just became I’m not caring and sharing like you want me to-’

‘No, that’s not what this is about,’ Sam cut him off. ‘I don’t care how you deal with this, but you _have _to deal with it, man! I’m your brother, all right? I just want to make sure you’re okay. So does Caden. Right?’ Sam looked at her expectantly.

Dean didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘Guys, I’m okay!’ he raised his voice, getting pissed off. ‘I’m okay! I swear, one more person asks if I’m okay, I’m gonna start throwing punches. These are _your_ issues, Sam. Quit dumping them on me.’

Sam stopped in his tracks. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I just think it’s _really_ interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. You spent your entire life slugging it out with the man,’ Dean was angry for real now. ‘I mean, hell, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him! And now that he’s dead, you wanna make it right? Sorry, Sam, but you can’t; it’s too little, too late.’

‘Why are you saying this to me?’ Sam asked, and Caden knew by his expression that Dean had done exactly what he meant to do and hit a nerve.

‘Because I want you to be honest with yourself about this!’ Dean yelled. ‘I’m dealing with Dad’s death. Are _you?’_

Sam just stared at him, hurt. There was a long moment of stunned silence from all parties until he muttered, ‘I’m gonna call Ellen,’ and stalked off ahead, leaving Caden and Dean behind.

Caden shook her head bitterly once Sam was out of earshot. ‘Nice, Dean.’

‘I wasn’t wrong,’ he defended, still bristling.

‘I know,’ Caden said, and continued walking down the road.

* * *

Rakshasa was Ellen’s best guess; an ancient Hindu creature that fed on human flesh, had the ability to turn invisible, and couldn’t enter a home without first being invited. They fed every twenty to thirty years, which lined up with the Bunker Brothers in 1981.

Unanimously, they agreed Cooper was the prime suspect, and so, planned for Sam and Caden to break into his trailer in search of evidence confirming their suspicions while Dean sourced the one weapon capable of killing him: a dagger of pure brass.

After they’d fought on the walk back, conversation was the furthest thing from what they wanted. Brief sentences were exchanged about the case, but beyond that, the journey passed in silence, leaving them to brood alone. Being cynical never helped matters, but Caden couldn’t believe she’d really thought things would feel normal again on this case. The three of them were back together, and yet she struggled to recall ever feeling so alone.

It was dark by the time they made it to the carnival, the lights shutting off as performers retired for the night. Dean left to retrieve the brass blade, while Caden and Sam stole through the shadows of the trailer park, avoiding the eyes of any straggling employees.

Cooper’s trailer was conveniently labelled with his name and took only a moment to find. Sam fumbled in his pocket for a lock pick, as Caden stood behind him, eyes darting across the trailer park to catch anyone who might notice them. A tiny _click _indicated Sam had opened the lock, and so the two of them slipped through the door, closing it silently behind them.

Immediately, Caden spotted what they were looking for. ‘That’s his bed,’ she said, pointing to a cheap mattress in the far end of the room. According to Ellen, rakshasa slept on beds of dead insects. Gross. ‘Did you bring a knife?’

‘Yeah, of course,’ Sam pulled the weapon from his pocket.

They knelt beside the bed, Caden lifting the sheets away as Sam took the blade to the mattress cover. But before he could cut into it, a firearm loaded behind them. At the familiar sound, they both snapped round to look; it was Cooper. _Shit_.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he bellowed, levelling the gun at them.

‘Oh, uh, Cooper! Hi!’ stalled Caden, putting on her best harmless teenage girl voice. ‘We were just, uh, looking for you. To… thank you for a, um, nice day at work…?’ Maintaining eye contact and a cheerful smile with Cooper, she elbowed Sam, who got the hint and slashed a hole in the mattress.

Cooper’s jaw dropped open. He looked utterly incredulous, his aim faltering. ‘Hey! That’s my bed! What are you- Get _out _of my trailer!’ He steadied the gun once more.

‘No bugs,’ Sam said. ‘It’s not him.’

If Cooper was aggravated before, he was _furious _now. ‘GET THE HELL OUT OF MY TRAILER!’

This time, he actually looked he might shoot them, so Sam and Caden scrambled to their feet and more or less threw themselves out the door, slamming it in Cooper’s face as he yelled something about them being so fired that they would never even set foot in another carnival in their lives.

Caden could live with that.

They kept running, hoping to catch Dean before he could wrongfully stab Cooper. As luck would have it, they almost ran into each other. Dean was acting frantic, like he’d a seen ghost or, more accurately she supposed, a rakshasa.

‘Cooper thinks we’re creeps, but it’s not him,’ explained Sam.

‘It’s the blind guy. He did his invisibility thing and tried to kill me,’ Dean’s eyes were wide, alarmed. ‘He’s here somewhere.’

‘What about the blade? Did you get it?’ Caden asked.

‘No. No, it’s just been one of those days.’

Sam chimed in, ‘I’ve got an idea. There’s a pipe organ in the funhouse – it looked like brass.’

* * *

Fortunately, the funhouse had not yet been shut down for the night. Sam, being the only one who’d fought through the maze before, took the lead, storming on ahead past creepy props and doorways framed with fluorescent paint.

There was no way to tell whether the rakshasa had followed them in until, less than a minute into the funhouse, a black door was slammed shut by an invisible force, cutting Caden and Dean off from their brother. The monster had joined them, after all.

‘Sam!’ they yelled, Dean fruitlessly trying to pry the door open with his hands.

‘Find the organ, okay?’ shouted Sam from the other side. ‘I’ll meet you there!’

Awesome. These things were hard enough to navigate as it was, never mind with an invisible murder clown on their trail, and without Sam, they had no idea where they were going. Dean took the lead, though he was no less lost than his sister. ‘Stay close, all right?’

Caden didn’t need telling. She fell into step as close behind as she could get without tripping them both up. The last thing they needed was to get separated.

The awful circus music and plentiful jumpscares did not make matters easier as they wandered the maze, but much to their relief, the rakshasa allowed them to find the organ in peace. It wasn’t an actual organ, just a prop made of brass pipes arranged in rows, spewing steam into the room. Sam had his hands wrapped around a pipe and was struggling to wrench it free.

‘Hey!’ Caden got his attention, glad they’d reunited without further crisis.

Sam appeared equally relieved to see them. ‘Hey! Where’s the rakshasa?’

As if in answer, a knife hurtled through the air and caught Dean by the sleeve of his jacket, pinning him to the wall behind him. A second knife followed almost immediately, fixing Dean’s other arm to the wall in similar fashion.

Caden ran to her brother and grabbed the hilt of the first knife. She pulled with all the strength she could muster, but before she managed to tug it out, a third blade whizzed by, slicing clean through the material of her shirt to open a gash in her arm. Caden yelped in surprise, but there was enough adrenaline in her veins that the pain wouldn’t register yet, so she persevered with her plight to free Dean from the wall.

Risking a glance behind her, she saw that Sam had managed to break a pipe off the organ, and was brandishing it out in front of him, eyes darting frantically around the room for any sign of the monster.

‘Cade,’ Dean’s voice grabbed her attention again. He gestured upward to a small red lever on the ceiling, attached to piping leading all the way to the organ.

_The steam. _She understood and reached up to grab it with her uninjured arm. Steam erupted from the organ as she yanked it down, filling the maze around them with a thick, opaque cloud.

A silhouette passed through the cloud, the faintest glimpse, but it was enough; the rakshasa, _finally._

Pain was creeping in now, and Caden pressed a hand over the cut to slow the bleeding as much as she could. There was no telling how bad the injury was; knife wounds always bled like nobody’s business.

As Dean tried to wriggle the knives out of the wall, Caden caught another glimpse of the rakshasa’s silhouette as it slunk around the back of Sam.

‘Behind you!’ she alerted him over the sound of the organ billowing more and more steam into the maze.

Sam didn’t even waste the time it would take to spin round; he thrust the brass pipe back, sinking it into invisible flesh. With a strangled cry, the rakshasa’s silhouette vanished, its clothes, visible now, falling to the ground in a crumpled heap.

Finally, Dean had managed to wrench out the knives, and he let them drop with a metallic clatter. Caden pushed the lever back into place, shutting off the steam.

Sam cast a worried glance at her arm. ‘Is it bad?’

Caden shook her head. ‘I’m okay.’ The blood had seeped well into her shirt now, but she’d live. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

* * *

They returned to the Roadhouse as soon as they could, not one of them eager to spend another second anywhere near the carnival. Unlike the first time they’d seen the Roadhouse, it was packed with hunters drinking and cleaning up their various weapons. Caden wasn’t sure she’d ever seen so many hunters gathered in one place.

Ellen offered a first-aid kit to fix up Caden’s arm – they’d had to take a bus back to Nebraska, so the most she’d been able to do was haphazardly bandage it on the way, much to the concern of the other passengers.

She and Dean were sitting in Ellen’s kitchen, Caden with her arm propped up on the table so her brother could stitch the knife wound shut. Sam hadn’t joined them, choosing instead to sit alone at the bar and reread their dad’s musings on Yellow Eyes. It was nice to be back, but everything was still so messed up between the three of them that Caden couldn’t really find it in herself to be comfortable.

It certainly didn’t help that there was a needle in her arm.

‘_Owww_,’ Caden groaned. Sitting on a kitchen chair, she had her knees drawn up to her chest, her head lowered onto them as Dean got it over with as quickly as he could. She swore this part was always worse than whatever injury warranted it. ‘Are you almost done yet?’

‘Nope,’ Dean poked the needle back in. ‘Sorry, kiddo.’

She groaned again. ‘We are _never_ taking another clown case.’

‘I’m with you on that one,’ he chuckled, but only for a second before he abruptly changed the subject. ‘Cay, be honest here, was I out of line with Sam yesterday?’

Caden lifted her head to look at him. His face was mostly a picture of concentration as he continued stitching, but there was something solemn about his eyes. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I dunno,’ he shrugged almost nonchalantly. ‘I guess I’ve been a dick recently.’

‘I mean, you had a point, but – _ow!’ _she yelped, waiting for the pain to subside before speaking again. ‘You didn’t have to start a fight. All you guys do anymore is argue.’

Dean didn’t say anything for several seconds. ‘I’ve been kind of a shitty brother, huh?’

‘It’s fine, Dean.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ he sighed. ‘I hate to talk about _what Dad would’ve wanted_, but, man, he’d be pissed.’

‘That’s not saying much. He was always pissed.’

Dean laughed humourlessly. ‘Yeah, he was. Two more stitches, okay?’

‘Thank _God_,’ Caden grimaced, burying her head back into her knees.

He finished working in concentrated silence, bandaging the wound back up so the stitching wouldn’t get torn out; that was the only thing Caden could imagine was worse than getting stitches in the first place. _Ouch._

Glad the ordeal was over, she pulled down the sleeve of her flannel shirt – one that had probably belonged to Dean at some point in the past – as her brother got up and headed to the sink to wash her blood off his hands. ‘Dad’s death,’ she said after a long moment. ‘It wasn’t a coincidence, was it?’

Dean shut off the water, grabbing a towel to dry his hands. ‘No, I don’t think so.’ His tone was neutral, unreadable.

‘Whatever healed us, killed him. Like a reaper, or something,’ she hypothesized. ‘But why would a reaper do that?’

He sat back down at the kitchen table beside her, silently repacking the first-aid kit.

‘Dean, he _knew _he was going to die. Why else would he say all that stuff to us?’

With that, he lost his cool. ‘I don’t know, Caden!’ he snapped, throwing his hands up defensively before he seemed to think better of it. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean took a long breath. ‘It doesn’t change anything.’

‘No, it doesn’t. He’s still dead,’ Caden muttered in resignation, ‘and we still haven’t done a _damn thing_ about it.’ They didn’t know where Yellow Eyes was, they didn’t have the Colt, and they’d just wasted three days on a hunt so the three of them could fall out with each other even more.

She expected him to retaliate, or get up and storm off, but instead, Dean just put an arm around her shoulders. ‘We’ll figure it out,’ he told her, back to that unreadable tone of voice.

Caden wished she could believe him.

* * *

Back at Bobby’s the Impala was waiting for him. The car was still in bad shape, hours and hours of work away from driveable, but she was a far cry from the mess she’d been after the accident. Dean hoped he could get her up and running again by the time Ash found a sign of Yellow Eyes.

Ellen hadn’t been kidding about Ash’s intellect; he’d constructed some kind of programme, way beyond Dean’s understanding, that would pick up any sign or omen anywhere in the world the second the demon showed its face again.

Dean had been out in the salvage yard for a few hours, the sun beating down as it did at this time of year, when Sam joined him. He glanced up from where he was working but didn’t speak; Caden was right that they all he and Sam seemed to do these days was argue, and for once, he just didn’t have the fire.

So, Sam kicked off the conversation. ‘You were right,’ he began.

Dean kept working, barely sparing him another glance. ‘About what?’

‘About me and Dad.’

That got Dean’s attention.

‘I’m sorry that the last time I was with him, I tried to pick a fight. I’m sorry that I spent most of my life angry at him. I mean, for all I know, he died thinking that I hate him,’ Sam went on. ‘So, you’re right. What I’m doing right now, it is too little. Too late.’

Dean was shocked to see his brother’s eyes threatening to tear up as Sam took a breath and admitted, ‘I miss him, man, and I feel guilty as hell. And I’m not all right. Not at all. But neither are you, Dean.’

It wasn’t an accusation, or a dare to bite back at him, or even really an invitation to reply. And that was just as well, because Dean didn’t know how to answer.

Sam muttered something about letting him get back to work and left without another word. He watched him go, the words _‘but neither are you, Dean’_ still echoing in his mind. It was true, and Dean hated it. He hated this whole fucking situation.

He had shut himself off after leaving the hospital. Closed down every opportunity to feel something in fear that would lead to his façade crumbling. Letting that grief anywhere near him would make it real. Too real to push aside or forget, and Dean was fucking _terrified _of what it might to do him.

But the façade _was _crumbling. There was a tide inside him, battling for control, and it was stronger now than when he had first sealed it away. He could feel it, every emotion he’d ignored since his father died merging into one another, rising up into something he couldn’t fight anymore. He was overwhelmed. Angry, maybe. He couldn’t tell.

Dean wandered a few steps, aimlessly, pointlessly. Needing an outlet. Losing what little control he had left over the tide inside him. Before he knew what he was doing, there was a crowbar in his hand, and he was staring at the Impala. Everything he’d been rebuilding, before him.

Since Dad died, it hadn’t just been a car.

He turned around and raised the crowbar, bringing it down hard on one of Bobby’s scrap vehicles, smashing through glass. It wasn’t enough. The tide was roaring now, and he wasn’t thinking straight.

He brought the bar down on the Impala.

And then he did it again.

And again. And again, and again, and again.

He hit the Impala with everything he had left. Every last ounce of grief he had pent up, every moment he’d spent avoiding talking about Dad, every time in the last two weeks he’d argued with Sam or ignored Caden. Everything.

He hit the Impala until there was a hole ripped straight through the black metal. He hit the Impala until the crowbar felt too heavy to lift again.

And for all it might’ve felt better in the moment, Dean struggled to remember it ever feeling worse.

**Author's Note:**

> You made it, dear reader. I hope to see you again in the next chapter. It was lovely to have your company.
> 
> Please do leave a comment, and say hello over on the tumblr. The url is cadenwinchester dot tumblr dot com.


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